I thought I had the childish scribblings far enough away to forget about her. You know 'her'. She's the one that you would never attain, the ideal that you through yourself into heart first and damned the world that you could not possess her. In my case, my yellow pads sketched out "Miss Kitty" (her name was L-). Was it her that I was infatuated with, and what governed my life for this long? Or was it the narcissism of my writing that kept me from moving on?